


Quietus

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band), Queen - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, HIV/AIDS, Language, Mild Language, Seriously this is angsty, discussion of serious illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: Quietus:1. Death or something that causes death, release from life.2. Something that has a calming or soothing effect.(Oxford Dictionary)A "missing scene" from Bohemian Rhapsody, taking place after Freddie tells the band about his diagnosis.





	Quietus

QUIETUS

 

Brian is cold.

He shouldn't be. He's just had a couple of drinks with his bandmates and Jim Beach, and now he's sitting in the back of Freddie's car in between Roger and John. Freddie is up front with his driver, sharing a giggle over something Brian can't quite hear.

Jim had put a fatherly hand on Brian's shoulder as they left the swanky bar. Forcing a smile, he told them he'd call their families and let them know that they'd been rehearsing hard and would spend the night at Freddie's. As he helped them into the car had given Brian his most forthright gaze and told him to take care of himself and "the boys." They're traumatized, for all that they tried to wave it away over booze, for all that they spent their evening chatting about everything except the fucking bombshell Freddie has just dropped at their feet.

Brian is cold.

He shivers, involuntarily, and immediately Roger and John huddle closer. Roger always feels like a furnace but John is ice-cold, shuddering a little until Brian reaches behind him and rubs small circles on his back. It's a furtive little motion. If Freddie looks in the rear-view mirror, he won't see anything unusual. John relaxes at the touch but he faces straight ahead, eyes lowered.

Out of the corner of his eye Brian sees Roger's face. It's paper-white, his eyes glassy and his lips slightly parted. It's the way he always looks when he's miserable. It's the same expression he had in the rehearsal studio when Freddie had said it.

It.

Freddie has IT.

The kind of cold Brian's feeling is not the type he'd expect from the unseasonably cool July evening. It's the kind that comes from shock, the kind that makes his heart lurch and his legs tremble. In those first seconds after the announcement, he'd felt the cold all the way to the pit of his stomach. Now, despite being several drinks into the evening, the cold has spread to the very marrow of his bones.

Even inside the house, Brian is freezing. He wonders how long it takes for shock to wear off. He'd normally inquire of Roger, but nothing tonight is normal. Even the music room looks unnaturally tidy, clear of the usual detritus of booze and cigarettes and God knows what else. Brian sinks into an armchair with Roger opposite and John pacing back and forth behind the sofa.

"All right, my curious kittens, I know you have questions." Freddie sits down on the piano bench and crosses his legs. "I've faced worse press conferences than this, so go ahead."

"How long have you known?" Roger's question is pointed; he's really asking how long Freddie has been holding out on them.

"I suspected, when I was in Munich. I was coughing a lot. There was blood." He meets Roger's gaze. "After I threw Paul out and came home, I was tested."

"So you knew, that day we met up in Jim's office," John states, a little breathlessly. "That's why he was so calm when you told us - he already knew." He turns away and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "You told him first."

Freddie rises and walks over to John, turning him around as he replies. "I told him the day we met up to talk about Live Aid. When you asked me to leave the room."

"Oh, God." It slips unbidden from Brian's lips. They hadn't planned on doing that - it had been Brian's idea, on the fly. Freddie gives him a tight little smile.

"Miami told me that the three of you needed more time. I asked him, 'What if I don't have time?' and that gave him a hunch. He phoned me up just an hour or so later. So...I spilled the beans." He tightens his hands on John's shoulders. "I'd always meant you to be the first to know. I haven't even told my family." 

"Does Mary know?" Brian inquires softly. He watches Freddie flick his gaze past the piano and upward, where Mary's bedroom window is dark.

"Not yet," Freddie sighs. "I can't imagine telling her, but I know..." His hands flutter as he presses them to his face. "My poor Mary. She came all the way to Munich to tell me what a twat I've been. She pulled the scales from my eyes about Paul. I'd just turned my life around because of her, and now I've let her down..." He trails off, tears brimming in his eyes. "I've let you down. So many times, so many ways, and I'm so fucking sorry." He reaches past John toward Roger. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Brian can scarcely see through the tears that threaten to spill over. He's vaguely aware of Roger stumbling over to Freddie and John, and he manages to join them. Freddie winds his fingers around Brian's and squeezes rhythmically. Like a heartbeat, like Freddie's heartbeat that will slow and stop. Brian bites down firmly on his lower lip to keep himself from screaming.

When Freddie pulls away, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet the way he does when he's shaking off nerves, he smiles lovingly at each of them in turn. "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable, then I'm off to the kitchen. Tea, I think, darlings?" 

Brian's still mute, still frozen. John clears his throat and nods with a single jerk of his head. "We'll be right here."

A jaunty wave, a smile, and Freddie leaves the room, taking all the oxygen with him. Brian can see spots in his peripheral vision and he realizes that he's not even breathing. No one moves, no one speaks. They can't keep on like this. They're wound up so tightly that someone will surely break.

It's Roger.

Brian hears his pathetic moan, and turns around in time to see his knees buckle. Roger lands on the sofa with a percussive thud before either Brian or John can get to him. Roger usually throws things when he's upset, but tonight he just hunches over, pulling wildly at the hair at his nape. The cry that escapes him is a wordless howl, primal and agonized.

"Jesus," John whispers, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Roger goes eerily silent but John begins to cry again. It's not a single tear like the one he'd shed in the studio: this time it's full-out weeping. He clutches Roger's shirt in his fists. Flinching as if he'd suddenly been shaken awake, Roger gathers John to himself with his left arm and rests his cheek in John's hair. He doesn't look at Brian as he extends his right hand to him, palm up, fingers trembling.

Of course Brian is there in an instant. He drops to his knees in front of them and presses Roger's hand to his chest. John lets go of Roger's shirt and instead tugs on Brian's. Brian understands, knows that they need to be closer, to protect one another and be protected. His arms are long enough that he can hold them both.

"We just got him back," Roger mumbles as he swipes at his eyes with a sleeve. "It's not fair."

"I know, Rog." The pain in John's tear-thickened voice rips through Brian like a flaming sword. "We'll just have to be grateful for every day we have with him."

That's their Deacy, always cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Roger sniffs inelegantly. "I hope he caught it from Paul." He glances at John, who looks shocked, then at Brian, who isn't sure what expression is on his own face. "If he was infected first, then he'll probably die first."

Oh, Roger, Brian thinks as John shakes his head in amused exasperation. Our avenging angel. 

Brian ruffles Roger's hair and Roger arches into the caress. His eyes are swollen, fearful, anguished. "I wanted to punch Freddie, the day of the meeting."

"Wouldn't have been the first time," John interjects drily.

They've all been in that place, every pair of them, at one time or another, but Roger and Freddie always had the most vehement arguments. John doesn't have the ego, and Brian doesn't have the temperament, but the other two fight like wildcats.

"I rather wish you had punched me," Freddie declares as he enters with a tea tray. All three of them try to help, almost making the cups fall off because their emotions are making them clumsy. Only Freddie sails smoothly, setting everything down on the big table. "Shall I pour?" His hands are steady on the porcelain teapot, on the little milk jug, on the silver tongs as he dumps a ridiculous number of sugar cubes in Roger's cup. Just the way they like it, because he knows them.

John's hands shake when he picks up his cup. As he sets it back down, a tear travels down his cheek. Freddie steps close to him with a rueful smile. "Ah, Deacy, don't," he murmurs as he wipes away the tear with the pad of his thumb. He puts his thumb in his mouth, swallowing John's pain. Communion. "There, darling. It's okay now."

It's not. It's never going to be okay. With the certain clarity of his damned scientific mind, Brian is already seeing the only possible outcomes. Sarcoma, eating away at Freddie's flesh. Pneumonia, tearing his voice from him. Each of Freddie's organs shutting down, one by one, as his own immune system betrays him.

Roger is standing stock-still. It's unnerving. Roger is a volatile force of nature, a volcano, a tsunami. But he's rooted to the spot now, his hands gone slack at his side. Freddie wraps him in a gentle embrace. He presses his lips to Roger's temple, then tilts his head and whispers, "Be careful, Roger - it's not just people like me who are getting sick. Please, love, be careful."

Eyes widening, Roger swallows hard and nods. Marriage hasn't put a stop to his womanizing, only slightly hampered it. Brian can tell by the frightened look in John's eyes that he's having the same thought: Roger could be next. 

Christ.

Letting go of Roger's arms, Freddie turns to Brian and stands on tiptoe to tangle his fingers through Brian's curls. _A lion's mane for my big, brave cat_ , Freddie used to say, and from the glint in Freddie's eyes Brian can tell that they're sharing the memory. When Brian leans over for a hug, Freddie takes his face in his hands and kisses his forehead. "Dearest Brian. I know that Jim's going to ask you to be strong, and I'm so fucking sorry that you'll have the heaviest burden."

"I'll do anything." Brian's promise comes in a gasp. He is having trouble breathing, much less speaking. He folds Freddie in his arms, wishing he could protect him forever and ever. 

Freddie disentangles himself, patting Brian on the shoulder as he glides back to the table and picks up his tea. He sips it and smiles. "Do you know what you can do for me?"

The others lean forward.

"Don't try to make my time special. Tell me a joke. Tell me you hate my shoes. Treat me the way you did before I ran off and fucked everything up." He takes another sip of tea, just long enough for the others to chuckle. His eyes are bright over the rim of the cup. "I want music in my life, for however long that lasts. Write me some beautiful songs. Please, darlings?"

Brian lifts his cup to his lips and takes a long swallow of tea. It's warm, like an embrace, like Freddie's most charming smile. The warmth travels through his body. "Of course we will, Freddie. The show must go on, right?"

"That's the spirit!" Freddie proclaims, waving his cup in the air. John's face loses its pallor and Roger finally, finally smiles. 

They nestle together on the sofa. They drink, they hug, they sing. 

They are a family.

By the time the ostentatious grandfather clock strikes midnight, Brian and Freddie are the only two people still awake. John is leaning against Brian's shoulder, breathing deeply, and Roger is curled up on his side with his head in Freddie's lap.

Brian knows that they'll be sitting here all night, knows that in the morning his back will be stiff and his legs won't want to function. But he also knows that there's no telling how many more times he'll be able to sit next to Freddie.

As if he can hear Brian's thoughts, Freddie moves his hand from Roger's untidy hair and grasps Brian by the wrist. Brian smiles despite the ache in his heart and silently claps Freddie's hand in his own. It's comforting. It's warm.

Brian is warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I've started a Tumblr! Find me here: lydiannode.tumblr.com .


End file.
